


To Catch A Jay

by CraftyWitchDoctor



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, Multi, Nick had a different upbringing so that's why he's a bit different, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Tom Buchanan represents everything I hate in humanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-05 03:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12181827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CraftyWitchDoctor/pseuds/CraftyWitchDoctor
Summary: Nick Carraway only longed for a simple life somewhere in between the bored-out-of-your-skull midwest, and the extravagant parties of his neighbor and friend whom he most certainly does not think is gorgeous. Jordan is cackling in the corner, 'congratulations,-' she says wiping an eye '-you almost convinced me'aka Nick's most common phrase is 'can i live?' while trying to deal with his lovesick party animal best friend





	1. and now you're all caught up (aka an introduction)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is basically a testing-the-waters fic, it's my first one so please be nice

It is well known amongst my family that my father would give occasional advice that was clearly passed down to him from his father, and from his father, and so on. Given that he was a relatively more reserved man, he didn’t speak often, so when he did, you learned to listen intently. My father didn’t have the chance for higher schooling as grandpa pulled him from school as soon as he could to help on our family’s farm which dad eventually inherited. But he always gave me constant reminders of the classic mantra of ‘not everyone has had your advantages, so refrain from judging them’ which I of course took to heart in respect for his rare advice.

My mother on the other hand, I would speak to a sight more often than my father, we would always talk about this and that when she would tell me something not quite as eloquent as my father’s advice, but just as useful. Such as one day when we were peeling potatoes together as we discussed what I desired to become in life to be my living. 

My eldest brother was to inherit the farm, and dad wanted me to go into finances in some way because I had some of the highest scores considering mathematics at school. I didn’t have the guts to announce I wanted to write. 

But my mother was able to see right through me, she had since the time I was very small, as she was with all her kids. (there was no stealing from the cookie jar in our house) And on that day on the back porch while we were peeling potatoes for supper, she took my chin between her thumb and index finger, and forced my eyes up from my hands when I hesitated to answer her for what I wanted to go to college for.

‘Nickie, I want you to make something of yourself in this world, I want you to find a nice little hole where you’re happy, and I want to see you flourish in something you love. Never mind what your daddy says, your father’s family has lived by many mottos. My family only lives by one ‘Figure out what your heart and your head are arguing over, and be the diplomat between the two.’’

We continued to peel potatoes, I cut my thumb, and when I was shipped off to New Haven to attend college, I majored in English.

~

Then of course there was the war, fortunately from which I survived unscathed for the most part. Mustard gas was thrown into our trench, causing slight damage to my eyes as I was lucky enough to be further from the canister than some of my friends. Nothing visible on the surface, but I now needed to wear glasses for seeing longer distances. I originally thought the specs were horridly ugly, round things. But I’ve been told they suit me, so as long as I can see I don’t mind much. 

When I returned home, my mother agreed with me that I couldn’t stay with them long as I was no longer (and honestly never had been) quite satisfied with our farm and the life that came with it. I knew that I wanted nothing to do with extravagancy and a life of riches. I decided that I would follow my mother’s original advice and find my niche.

I called a friend of mine in Harlem to ask around if there was any work for a writer of any sorts, be it a journalist, or an advertisement writer, I just needed something to keep myself afloat for a while until I could find something better. My friend called back a few days later saying the Herald was desperate for new editors as many hadn’t come back from the war and that was that. 

I managed to find a small cottage-like house in what was called the West Egg of long island. It seemed a pleasant and quaint enough little place for only 50 dollars a month, it was a wonder no-one had snatched it up yet.

Well, at least it WAS a wonder to me until my first Saturday night at my new house.


	2. attempted meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick is struggling y'all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY JESUS I GOT A BOOKMARK A KUDOS AND OVER 10 HITS WTF WHAT IS LIFE, legit thank you guys so much. I swear things start to pick up next chapter!

I arrived at the humble bungalow in the later afternoon, one of the first things I noticed was not my new house itself, but the pristine almost mansion-like house next to my own. My house on the other hand, was obvious in the fact it hadn't been lived in for a decent amount of time.

For when I unlocked the door and opened it, the hinges creaked like a rotten horror novel. And when I went to take a breath, I found my lungs filled with dust of ages past. Well, no matter, I was a fully grown man capable of cleaning his own house.

I left my few bags on the front porch and opened every window I could find to get some fresh air in. And when I went to start dusting and sweeping, I realized the house hadn't been equipped with cleaning supplies, nor had I brought any of my own. 

I bit my lip in thought, I could go to buy a broom and basic cleaning supplies. But I needed what little money I had to last me for food until my first paycheck. 

I then had the idea to go over to the mansion and first of all, introduce myself to my neighbor, and secondly ask if they had any supplies to spare. 

I walked over the lawns up to the ornate front door, and knocked with a minimal amount of hesitation. A minute or so later, a man in a suit answered the door.

'How may I help you?' He greeted in a cold voice.

'Hi, I'm Nick Carraway-‘

'Mr. Gatsby is not interested in any interviews for any newspapers.' The man proceeded to try to shut the door.

'No! No, I'm not a reporter. I just moved in next door, I-I wanted to introduce myself, are you my neighbor?'

He looked me up and down, as if my story was highly unlikely. And it made my insides squirm a bit, as my hometown wasn't large, there wasn't anyone near say, the top of the food chain. Aka nobody was filthy stinking rich, so there was no real hierarchy like in New York. 

'No, I'm Mr. Gatsby's butler, and I'm afraid he's on a phone call at the moment. Is there anything else I can do for you Mr. Carraway?' His voice was sullen as if to say 'how dare you try to meet your neighbor, weren't you ever taught how the world works, you’re not meant to be here’

'...No, no, that's fine, thank you for your time.' I turned and walked away from the elaborate house.

~

Well then if my neighbor was too busy to meet me so I could ask for cleaning supplies, then I supposed I'd just have to make it work with what I had. I looked around my unkempt yard and found a reasonably long stick around half the length of my wingspan, I then gathered old yellow grass and weeds and bound them to the end of the stick using a ball of twine I'd brought. (why I thought I'd need twine but not a broom, I don't know)

I had myself a broom, maybe I should have been an engineer. I pushed that mind from my thought and got to work.  
As the sky grew darker I became increasingly happier that I had opened the doors and windows, every time I swept a new room there would be a storm of dust and god only knows what else. I was able to wipe down the sparse furniture and windows with water and a shirt that was basically a rag.

It was dark when I was mostly finished, so considering it was cooler with the sun down, I went to sweep the accumulated leaves and twigs off the back porch and to cool off for a bit. 

I pause, and take in my surroundings. This is my new life, this is where I've made it to. And I'm happy, a bit of an odd thing to say holding a broom on your back porch at night, but I really truly am.

I think I've found my perfect middle ground


	3. Dinner and Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick visits Daisy and Tom, and finds out a great deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how is it that when I'm writing the pages seem so long, then when I transfer it to AO3 its like 'lol that barely looks like a page' anyway, thank you all for reading, (kudos and feedback are greatly appreciated)
> 
> of course I own none of the Great Gatsby, all rights to F. Scott Fitzgerald (I mean idk if Gatsby is public domain or what since Fitzgerald is most certainly dead but I'm not gonna risk getting sued for this)

I lifted my eyes to see a lone figure on the dock at my neighbor's house, curious, I watched for a minute. The figure reached out a hand in front of them, I swiveled my head to see what made the figure outstretch their hand.

It was then I realized that every few second or so, an emerald glimmer of light would blink in, and then out of existence like a spark. And I recognized it as the light on my cousin, Daisy's dock. 

I hadn't seen Daisy in a few years, not even after the war did I see a real opportunity to visit. But we wrote letters because we were good friends in our youth, and in her letters she went on about her house settled on the edge of Long Island, the sound of the water lapping up to the stone wall during the night, and I recalled a brief mention of the charming green light at the end of her bleach-white dock. 

I quickly looked back to see who the figure was, but they were gone. But it didn't exactly take a genius to string together the logic that a man was standing on my neighbor's dock, not doing anything in particular except reaching out towards a light. That this figure was most likely my neighbor, who knows, maybe he's a local eccentric of some sort.

One thing I expected about the city was the noise and bright lights, what I wasn't prepared for was the loss of the familiar noises of the country. No sounds of grasshoppers nor cicadas creaking through the night, no whooshing sound of wind through the wheat fields. I no longer see wildflowers and ragweed on the side of the road. I was used to fresh air and wide open space, well, I got some semblance of that by moving to a more open space in Long Island. 

I bring myself inside and as I’m getting ready for bed, a sharp ‘brrrring’ hits my ear repeatedly, and I realize it’s the sound of my telephone. I quickly make my way to it and pick it up. 

‘Hello?’ I answer,

‘Nick darling, is that you?’ I hear a woman’s voice from the other end, a voice familiar in a way…

‘Daisy? Is it you?’

‘Yes of course it is! I heard that someone was moving to West Egg, and well, it’s always news when someone new moves in, so I just had to call you!’

‘Yeah, speaking of, how did you get my number? I got here today!’

‘O~h, I called your mother and got your number, I knew she would have it so she could talk to her favorite son! Always were a mother’s boy, you were.’

I felt my face and neck heat a bit at the slight embarrassment of that and didn't answer her right away, just to annoy my cousin.

‘I can hear your blush down the phone line, Nickie darling’-I of course turned more red at this I’m sure-‘Anyway, I really wanted to call to invite you over for dinner tomorrow, Tom hasn't been able to see you since college and I haven't seen you in about, oh, I’d say four years.’

‘Of course I’ll come to see you both, how old is Pammy now?’ I ask out of curiosity for my 2nd or 3rd cousin, I’m not sure at this point, then again who really knows what a third cousin once- removed means?

‘She’s two now! Oh Nickie, she’s an absolute dream, I can’t wait for you to meet her! I’ll see you tomorrow!’

‘Bye Daisy, tell Tom I said hello.’

I heard the other end click.

As if it had just occurred to my body that it was tired, I felt a sudden drooping of my eyelids, and an invisible weight on my shoulders and feet that made me drag myself to the now clean bedroom. I drop onto the bed and as my body is winding down to rest, it occurs to me that I didn’t shut the windows across from my bed, but it’s warm, and the last thing I register is the slight hot breeze sliding over my cheek.

~

The next morning, I found litany of workers in my neighbor’s yard. The grass being trimmed, stray leaves and debris being raked, the patio being scrubbed and what seemed to be a circus tent in the yard, it seemed as though my mysterious neighbor was planning a party of some sort. And from the looks of it, a rather big one. 

I spent the time before lunch still tidying up a bit and when time comes, I dress in my simple clothes, knowing Tom would probably look down on me a bit for my shirts that aren’t Oxford and my pants that aren’t personally tailored to me. Honestly, I couldn’t care less what Tom thought, he was rather pretentious in college and I would be willing to bet that he still is.

Daisy was kind enough to send a car to my house in what I wanted to interpret as an act of kindness, but it was more likely that she realized I didn’t know exactly where they lived.

I got into the fancy car and greeted the driver, and off we went. The unnamed chauffeur and I didn’t speak the whole way.

We passed through what I had taken to call the valley of ashes, a place you had to go through to get to new York, or to the East Egg. I again, squinted at the billboard of T.J. Eckleburg, and I had a brief feeling of being on a witness stand in a courtroom as I locked eyes with the billboard.  
But the moment ceased, and soon I was not able to even see the advertisement.

I was jolted out of my thoughts when the car rumbled up to the immaculate white house of my cousin and her husband. I step out and am greeted by the hulking mass of Tom Buchanan.  
‘Nick! How the devil are you?’ He hits my back in what I assume was supposed to be a friendly greeting, but will most likely develop into a bruise over the next day or so.

‘Well enough Tom, how have you been? I haven’t seen you for about five years now?’  
And I’m already losing brain cells from small talk, this is gonna be great.

‘Ha! I was thinking it was more like ten with these things!’ he says as we walk in the door, I’m confused as to what he’s referring to when he snatches my glasses off my face.

‘I thought you were in your twenties Nick, not your fifties! Your eyesight already failing you this early on? With all the reading you do I can’t say I’m surprised!’ He laughs a bit more at his joke as I try not to trip over the long rug or a table’s leg. 

‘…Actually, it was the mustard gas…’ At this Tom stops, and hands my glasses back to me, a bit roughly, but I’m glad to have my eyes back. Note to self: don’t take Tom down a peg, especially when he’s on about a joke.

We enter a sitting room with all the French doors open, making the white curtains bounce in the air. It reminds me of when we would hang the sheets and blankets out for drying, I feel a slight heaviness on my chest at the thought of home, but it’s shaken off in a moment when I hear high pitched giggles and see my cousin poke her head over the back of the couch.

‘Oh Nick!’ Daisy reaches a hand out for me, and of course I walk over and take it. ‘You look adorable Nickie, Oh, Jordan this is Nick Caraway, my second cousin once-removed. Nick, this is Jordan Baker.’ I look at the woman seated across from Daisy, laid out on the settee. She looks friendly enough, but also has a I-drink-and-I-know-things look about her. 

We chatter for a while, catching up in general when the butler comes to tell us that lunch is ready. We all move to the patio where there is an elaborate setup for our lunch, which includes flowers, fine silverware, and for some godforsaken reason, lit candles. Daisy seems to agree on the absurdity of having them out in July, and promptly blows them out.

‘Oh look, my little finger is all black and blue… you did that Tom. But that’s what I get for marrying a great big, hulking brute of a man’-

‘Daisy, I hate that word ‘hulking’, even in kidding.’ 

Tom sighs in an exasperated manner and the tension is almost palpable between the married couple, they were a pair that you would never have assumed were together, and not in a charming way like Abbot and Costello. It’s the kind of marriage that isn’t forged by heart and blood. Only paper. 

The subject passes with a little overcast, but fortunately no hurricane. But is quickly replaced with a new opportunity for a storm to brew.

‘Nick, have you read that book -uh- the rise of the colored empires?’ Tom questions.

Oh god, not this, that horror of a book has been all the rage in the ancient newspapers with antiquated ideas. And as much as I hate to, I slap an impartial look on my face and answer-

‘No I can’t say I have.’ The words slip out of my mouth like molasses, said with great difficulty, and with a distinct taste of cyanide left on my tongue.

‘Well it’s a fine book, everyone ought to read it…’ 

I let Tom’s ramblings drift off like a buzz in my mind, knowing nothing of real substance would be said.

Fortunately, the butler enters and whispers to Tom something indistinguishable. He stands and begins to excuse himself, but can’t quite leave the ‘conversation’ at that. 

‘Anyway, we’re responsible for everything that’s gone to make civilization! Art, Science, Mathematics… and all that.’  
And with that ignorant opinion, he takes his leave of us.

I lean forward so that Daisy and Jordan can hear me, 

‘Yet he doesn’t mention that we use the Arabic number system, or that we have the same anatomy as any other human.’

They both giggle a bit at that, but Daisy seems more distressed than anything. Before Jordan and I can say anything Daisy grips my hand like it’s what’s tethering her to the ground.

‘I love seeing you at my table Nick…you remind me of a rose, an absolute rose! Doesn’t he?’ She said aimed for Jordan.

Daisy suddenly stands from her chair and walks after Tom. Unsure of what to do when both of your hosts abandon you with a practical stranger, I try striking up a conversation with Jordan. 

‘You’re Jordan Baker aren’t you? The golf champio’- She shushes me

‘Don’t talk, I want to hear what happens.’ I look at her as my brow crinkles, 

‘Is something happening?’ I turn to look where Daisy and Tom disappeared to.

‘You mean you don’t know? I thought everyone knew!’ She exclaims.

‘Well, I don’t.’

‘Tom’s got a woman in New York, you’d think she’d have the decency not to telephone at mealtime don’t you think?’

I couldn’t think of what to say, but at the same time, I’d gone to college with Tom and saw what kind of man he was with women, so I couldn’t say this really surprised me. Be that as it may, Daisy is my cousin so of course I was slightly heated with Tom. 

It was at this moment that Daisy and Tom returned from the house and back to the table, the tension once again palpable. Like if you poked the air with a pin, something would burst and all hell would break loose. 

The rest of the meal passes somewhat pleasantly, mostly catching up and I got to meet my third-cousin once removed, Pammy. She reminded me very much so of Daisy in her looks, but she was relatively shy and hid behind her mother’s chair when Daisy tried to introduce her to me. But no sooner was she in Daisy’s arms, was she out of them again. And to be entirely honest it was rather sad, a mother not holding her child for more than a minute or two at a time. 

I found myself growing a bit tired as it was almost time for me to leave and it was getting into the evening, I said my goodnights to Daisy and Tom, and Jordan had already gone to bed because she had a tournament the next day.  
Daisy had a driver take me back to West Egg, the same route we came, having learned a great deal about my cousin and her life, and it in all honesty, disturbed me slightly. The neighborhood was quiet when I arrived back at the cottage. Which I was truly thankful for, silence was exactly what I needed after a whole evening of tiring socialization.  
I found myself thinking how lucky I was that nobody is particularly disturbing of the peace or generally rambunctious in the neighborhood, I found the quiet of my piece of long island calming and serene.

I had a rude awakening the next night.


End file.
